Waterman looked in disbelief at the images of hundreds of men, reflections of the unit, projected and refracted from every surface. Someone had, with infinite care, arranged mirrors to cover the entire perimeter wall of the lens room.
As if stirred by the same thought, all four cams tilted upwards at the same time and stared at the huge domed roof. What they assumed was a solid structure was in fact a greenhouse of glass held together by metal lattices. The outside of the rotunda had been boarded up, turning each interior pane of glass into a reflective surface facing inwards.
‘The whole place is a hall of mirrors,’ muttered Waterman, shaking his head and looking around.
On the cams, F Squad stood in confusion, their light machine guns tipped up. The room seemed to contain an entire battalion of them, brilliantly lit in deep greens and blacks, spilling into every corner of the room.
‘Why would …’
Waterman’s sentence was cut off by a loud humming noise that seemed to emanate from deep inside the lighthouse. On the cams, the Squad began to move towards the perimeter of the room, backing away from the source of the noise.
And then there was a dazzling flash.
Instantly, the four cams were washed white, the delicate sensitivities of the night vision blasted by the blaze of light.
‘Someone switched the lens on …’
Waterman twisted away from the wall of screens to shield his eyes. Swift was standing by his side.
‘The mirrors are trapping the light and reflecting it,’ said Swift.
‘It’s an ambush,’ said Waterman, cold dread creeping through him. ‘To blind them.’
The screens on the front wall of the Arena looked like they were windows looking out on to a star going through a supernova. Thick fingers of brilliant light stabbed through the darkness in the Arena like projector beams in a darkened cinema.
And then Waterman heard it.
Single shots, like a car backfiring slowly and methodically.
Myers’ voice could be heard shouting off screen.
‘Take off your night vision.’
Everyone in the Arena held their breath as the cams were stripped of their infra-red overlays.
The light crept back into the feeds, which resembled retinas blasted by a camera flash. All the while, the sound of the shots continued. After a few seconds, vague shapes and shadows of the interior bled back into the cams, finally coalescing into a sight Waterman was dreading.
The bodies of the remaining members of F Squad lay scattered around the floor, not moving.
Waterman turned to find Hunter standing with an iPad in his hand.
‘Not now, Ian,’ said Waterman.
He turned back to look at the devastation on screen.
‘You need to see this,’ insisted Hunter.
Waterman whirled around. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but British intelligence’s military unit has just been wiped out. We are being hunted. What is more important?’
Hunter held up the iPad to Waterman’s face and he spoke slowly, as if explaining something crucial to a child.
‘We’re being hacked. Right now. The breach is coming from inside the computer room.’